Berkeley Square
by Clockwork Spades
Summary: "I may be right, I may be wrong, but I'm perfectly willing to swear, that when you turned and smiled at me, a nightingale sang in Berkeley square." He fell in love - all at once. Not a song-fic. Oneshot.


The war seemed distant, a quiet memory despite the fact it had been but a handful of years – long enough to clear away the rubble, not far enough to repair all the buildings. It still felt like brick dust and bunting, but the thought of guns and bombs seemed a fanciful idea.

They were wandering, something not alien to them at this time, though Alfred knew the streets of London surprisingly well by this point Arthur still led – or perhaps Alfred just allowed the 'old man' to believe that as he strolled lazily to the right of him. America's visits weren't often, not anymore, but after their close ally-ship in the midst of the war they'd rather become accustomed to wandering around together in spare moments.

It had started at first when the younger nation followed Arthur out in search of a smoke, Alfred complaining and reprimanding him until the man himself had told Alfred he could go inside if he preferred not to smell the tobacco – which had promptly shut him up. Guiding Alfred back to his hotel, between a cafe and the work building, even just around the building itself they'd ended up wandering together. Sometimes they spoke animatedly, sometimes they argued, sometimes they whittled away at the most menial of things and sometimes they simply said nothing at all.

This still continued whenever the younger man came to visit – between working of course, though on lunch it was easy for them to stroll through the now familiar streets of Mayfair in an easy and strangely warm silence.

Alfred liked the square, so Arthur had gathered one day they wandered through – though Arthur hadn't understood why at the time; it was raining and all his bandages had been soaked through, even if that was mostly his own fault for refusing to take the bomber jacket Alfred offered to him when the spatter began.

"_I don't need you to baby me. I've just got a few scrapes," An understatement of the highest nature, he was limping, left arm tucked up in a sling and bandage wound around his forehead. "I can handle a bit of water, lad."_

_"Alrighty then." Alfred had shrugged, sliding the leather jacket back into place over his shoulders. "Mr I can handle myself next to any of these young whippersnappers who I totally don't need the help of." Humour was common, teasing as well – the concerned flash in his eyes was not._

_"Sod off." Arthur had grumbled, hobbling a bit faster and scowling when Alfred's long legs had the audacity to keep pace with him. He didn't even notice how close the other was standing, or the lack of rain on his back. Weren't Alfred's elbows were always held like that when stuffed into the pockets of that damned jacket?_

It wasn't a warm day, this one they were sharing in the mid-afternoon. Sunny, but brisk enough for Alfred to shiver and hum some sound that could've been a complaint as they made their way into the park, which saw the raise of Arthur's eyebrow as he waited for some explanation. He was waved off, and Arthur didn't question it for once.

Their wandering found them a bench, warmed enough by the sun to stop either shivering when they sat down. Arthur crossed an ankle over his knee, quite conservative with his straight back and folded hands when compared to his splayed companion. Alfred was all long legs and gangly arms laid out over the back of the bench, as if without care for Arthur's personal space as his hand brushed his shoulder without apology. Maybe gangly was unfair, Alfred was far from scrawny these days – unlike Arthur. But the Englishman drew himself out of both of those thoughts before either could become dangerous, instead favouring a scoff of disapproval at Alfred's laid-back posture.

Alfred's eyebrow was the one to raise this time, expression serene and eyes full of just the right amount of stardust to make Arthur's stomach twist uncomfortably. He swallowed, narrowing his eyes briefly at the younger nation before turning his nose up.

"You sit like a communist." Arthur remarked, one of his wittier thoughts as he fiddled with the hem of his shirtsleeve.

But Alfred looked far from offended as Arthur had imagined, instead there was just a touch of humour in his expression, something Arthur couldn't bring himself to look away from this time. "How so?" The twang of his accent was heavy on the London air, a novelty for any passer-by who noticed, but Arthur was long past caring for how anyone else sounded.

Arthur's own eyebrow rose, corner of his mouth tilting up in that way he couldn't control – _novelty_. A mannerism of his Alfred had realised with no small degree of embarrassed affection was only allowed in his solo presence. He felt his heart beat faster. "No class."

And Alfred laughed.

Clear as a bell, surprising Arthur enough to knock away the amusement on the older's face while Alfred straightened himself up. He closed his legs a little further, brought his hand into his lap, looking for all the world quite proper and refined, even with his other arm slung around the bench at Arthur's shoulders. So close.

Teasing was commonplace, 'your economy' this and 'your poor clothing' that. They skirted around serious topics, enough to dip into them for current events but pull away from past scars. But usually there was a protest, a scowl, a light whap with the back of a hand on a shoulder as an invitation for more banter between them.

Arthur thought the accusation, however light, dipped into their more serious topics. Perhaps he was searching for more of a spark, looking for a stronger reaction. He was yearning for something from Alfred – had been since the lad stepped foot on his own soil – and yet he was entirely unaware of the same feeling in the other. But Alfred for once had more sense to know what it was.

Arthur sat there, eyebrows cocked slightly as he waited patiently for an explanation, but when Alfred looked his way he simply shrugged and glanced around again. So Arthur sighed, eyes rolling as he looked away as well.

The sound of Alfred's humming was a soft one. Broken a little from his lack of breath in trying to keep his personal melody quiet, but Arthur could tell quite clearly what the song was. So he scoffed again, head shaking as Alfred looked at him in question, the humming gone again.

"Here? Really?" Arthur looked entertained, as if the American was singing something ridiculous under his breath.

"What? We're in Berkeley Square; it makes me think of the song." Alfred answered, his tone light, explanatory, not the slightest bit offended by Arthur's judgemental stare. "It's fitting."

"How?" Arthur snorted this time, eyebrows creasing as if Alfred's words truly were ridiculous now.

The American shrugged. "_There were angels dining at the Ritz…_" He sang lowly, breathily, mostly in keeping with the quiet tone of his hum. Arthur remained quiet, so Alfred shook his head, honey blond locks quite secure in their slicked style.

He looked over to the Englishman, lips curving in a smile wide enough to display a flash of pearly teeth. There was something too warm, too familiar, too affectionate in those eyes as they stared right back into Arthur's. The breeze seemed to run through Arthur, breath caught on something in his throat.

"I don't know. Legends, or something else you can tell me is ridiculous."

* * *

_"I may be right, I may be wrong,  
But I'm perfectly willing to swear  
That when you turned and smiled at me,  
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square."_

* * *

_Nothing can take my eternal love for Vera Lynn, so here have this piece of fluff. I never had a real idea of how I thought the pair of them got together in whatever kind of 'canon' we have in this fandom, but Vera always makes me think of them._

_This is aimed to be more of Arthur falling in love than any kind of them becoming an item, but you're allowed to think of this as you will._


End file.
